


Understanding

by LadyoftheWoods



Series: Supportive Sides [4]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, and they all need hugs, everyone's a good bean, sympathetic everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: As requested by Killuanatsume and Kerriathechosen1Deceit agrees to let Patton help him tell the others about his depression.
Series: Supportive Sides [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688140
Comments: 24
Kudos: 206





	Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first one that's really a direct sequel to the previous part, but it can still be read alone. If you are feeling depressed, reach out and tell someone. I guarentee you there is someone who cares very much and wants to help, if you are willing to share.

He is… scared. Not an emotion he will ever admit to, not out loud, but he is scared out of his mind. 

He can feel everyone’s eyes on him. He can’t seem to summon his usually sly smile, he can’t seem to meet anyone’s eyes. 

He can feel Virgil’s eyes on him the most. They are hard and cold and burning daggers, but the more he looks, the more puzzled his gaze. He knows Virgil can feel his fear, his anxiety, at being here. So different than his usual surety, but he doesn’t have the strength for his usual facade. 

“I should just go.” He mumbles. Patton squeezes his hand, says no, at the same time Roman spits out a low, growled, yes. He flinches, he’s still too tired for this, too empty for this. 

“Roman!” Patton scolds and he feels Roman’s incredulous gaze. 

“What? I’m just saying what everyone is thinking. I don’t know what fantasies he’s been spinning that made you invite him to this meeting you’ve called, but I’m sure they’re just lies.” 

He jerks away from Patton, stumbling back as if struck, liar, echoing in his ears. That’s all he is, after all. All he’ll ever be. Roman’s words cut straight to his core, because they are everything he knew Roman would say, he is not welcome here, never here. 

“Dee?” He jumps, startled. He hadn’t realized Virgil had moved from his customary spot on the stairs, was now next to him. 

He’d forgotten Virgil is taller than him. He stands in Virgil’s shadow now, unable to meet those dark violet eyes, unable to respond to the concern emanating from him in waves because his voice is stuck in his throat. He is seeing a thousand memories behind his eyes, of before Virgil left, before Virgil hated him, and he doesn’t deserve Virgil’s care, now. Virgil shouldn’t feel obligated to care. 

He has never felt this small. He can hear Patton, standing in front of him defensively, explaining to the others about his depression. His bad thoughts. His nightmares. 

Patton had asked his permission, to hold this meeting, to tell the others, and he had given it. He knows he wouldn’t get the words out, knows the others wouldn’t believe it, coming from him. But they listen to Patton, and Patton had asked, instead of just blurting it out he had asked, and Patton had already helped so much, so he had agreed. 

Now he wishes he hadn’t. Wishes he was hiding back under his covers, because Roman is still arguing, disbelieving, and Logan hasn’t said anything, is just staring at him, and Virgil is so close, so close, and he wishes he could reach out, wishes he could give him a hug, but he lost that right years ago, he won’t ever ask anything of Virgil, even though he is almost shaking from the effort of not, is on the cusp of shattering under that fathomless gaze. 

“I’m sorry.” He manages to rasp out. He is hugging himself around his middle, cold again, afraid again, as he hears Patton finish his explanations. 

“When did it get this bad?” Virgil asks lowly. He thinks Virgil knows, it is easy enough to guess, and he shakes his head, refusing to answer, refusing to make or even let Virgil consider himself to blame. 

“S my fault. I hurt you I… I deserve… this." He gestures at himself, all of himself. 

His rumpled clothes, not even his usual outfit, just sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. His hair, curly and tangled and disheveled, the bags under his eyes, darker even than Virgil's, his near constant, small, shivers. And that is only what they can see. There’s so much more, he is so damaged, he is just a master at hiding it. Roman isn’t the only one who can act. 

“Falsehood.” He jumps again at Logan's quiet word, eyes landing on the logical side, who for once isn’t hiding all of his emotions. He can read concern and consideration and… not quite pity, empathy, maybe, before he looks at the floor. 

“Deceit. Depression is an invisible monster. It makes you think you should be hurt, it makes you hate yourself, it makes you think the world would be a better place without you-” He knows this and yet… 

“Wouldn’t it be?” he doesn’t realize the words have slipped past his lips until he hears Logan’s sharp inhale, Patton's soft coo of distress, a muffled curse from Virgil. Roman is the only one who's silent, and when he finally gets the courage to look up, his silence is not what he expected. 

Roman is frozen in place, face a mask of almost horrified awe, but as he watches, it becomes softer, and then Roman's eyes meet his. 

He flinches as Roman makes his way across the room, until he is right before him, and he is waiting for the sing of steel, for the ice of pain, for it all to end. 

Instead he is pulled close, and tight and warm and he realizes Roman, Roman of all people, is hugging him. 

He thought Patton's hugs were something, Roman's are altogether different. They are stong and fierce and overwhelmingly scream of safety, of protection, of defensiveness from the rest of the world, of love. 

“No, God no, Deceit. I'm sorry, I’m so, so, sorry. I thought… I thought you liked playing the villain, I thought that’s what you wanted, to be spooky and mysterious and the bad guy. I didn’t know… didn’t know it was hurting you, that I, was hurting you. I’m sorry.” Of everything he’d expected Roman to say, an apology had never even crossed his mind. The fact that Roman means every word just baffles him further, and he doesn’t even know what to say if he could summon words. 

“Roman is correct. I had assumed, wrongly, that based on your antagonistic behavior you did not desire our friendship or companionship. I see now your behavior is more similar to Virgil’s scare tactics when he first appeared than to true enmity. I apologize, Deceit. If you would like, I will look into different treatments and methods of living with and managing depression. We can work together to determine what is most effective in minimizing the symptoms and length of your episodes, as well as what we as a group should and shouldn’t do to help avoid on setting these episodes in the first place. Despite all of these measures, there will still be episodes, and days you are not ok, and that, too, is natural. It is not deserved, it is not your fault, and we will all help support you through them.” He nods, that’s all he can do, he doesn’t understand why they’re being so kind, he doesn’t understand how to comprehend this overwhelming niceness, doesn’t know how to explain to them how little he deserves it. Then Roman pulls back, and he almost protests the loss of warmth, but now he is facing Virgil. 

Their eyes meet for a single moment, before he looks away. What can he say, what can make things better, what won’t tear them apart even more, because this, between them, is of his own making, was borne of his own self-destructiveness, is own damn fault and always has been. He has always been the problem. 

Then Virgil lets out a small breath, and opens his arms, and before he can help himself he is propelling into them, so fast that it almost knocks Virgil over, but he doesn’t care, right now, because it is Virgil, and he is solid, he is real, he is warm, he is there, he is holding him, he still smells exactly the same, coffee and ink and paper, and maybe a hint of tea, now, too, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except this moment. 

He doesn’t know when they ended up on the floor, but his legs must have given out at some point, because they are both kneeling, and he his clinging to Virgil and sobbing again, and trying to stutter out incoherent apologies, and it hurts like hell, but feels so damn good at the same time and he doesn’t think he will ever, ever let go of his storm cloud again. 

“I know, I know, dee. It’s ok, it’ll be ok, I promise. You don’t... you don’t have to do this alone.” His sobs are dying down into silent, sniffling tears, and he responds by gently butting his head against Virgil’s chin, like a cat demanding attention, and he feels a prism of light explode inside of him at Virgil’s breathy laugh, at the small smile that flickers across his face, at the fondness in his eyes as he looks down at him, at the warmth present there after having been so, so cold, for so, so long, and it nearly breaks him again.   
“... you gonna let go anytime soon, Scales?” His breath catches. That had always been Virgil’s nickname for him. He hasn’t heard it years, hasn’t thought about it in years, and the question has him burrowing back into Virgil, mumbling a very shaky, very determined no, his heart seizing at the very idea. “ok. Imma move us to the couch then, if that’s ok?” Virgil asks, and he nods, feeling Virgil scoop him up, gently sit down on the couch, and the whole time he doesn’t let go once, lest Virgil disappear from his fingers and this is all a dream. 

He feels warmth settle on the other side of him. He glances up, surprised to see it’s Roman who has wrapped an arm around his shoulders, is cuddled around him, filling him up with more of that intoxicating warmth he’s been lacking for so, so long. 

“Is this ok?” Roman asks, his voice is so... different, now. Where it was once steel cold as his katana, now it is warm and hesitant, a little unsure, a little protective, not of Virgil, but of him. He just nods, curling tighter against Virgil, as Roman curls tighter around him, and he can’t help but let out a small sigh of happiness. 

He hears Logan settle in his armchair, can feel his small smile from across the room as he flips open a book. Knowing him he’s already studying up, researching, he’ll be taking notes all day now, idly sharing facts and statistics, each of which will make him feel just a little bit better, just a little less alone, because even though he knows objectively thousands of people out there have depression, it still seems like he is impossibly the only one with this pain. 

He hears Patton, humming and moving around the kitchen, probably baking something, that’s what Patton always does when his emotions are heightened to an unsustainable level. He wonders if Patton would be surprised to find that he has the same mechanism, cooking when stressed, because then at least he has control over something in his life. 

Distantly, he hears Logan call for Remus. He hears Remus pop up, surprised and unprepared, because no one has ever summoned him before, and they start speaking, oddly serious, for once. He realizes Remus is speaking about him, his condition, that Logan has asked if Remus wants to help research, that Logan gives him a stack of books to read through. He can imagine Remus’s awe at being trusted with any of Logan’s books, knows the care he will take, because he craves their approval like a drug, and Remus cares about him more than is good for him, and will do anything to help. He already has the most knowledge of depression anyways. Dark creativity is his department, after all. 

Well, Remus can wreak whatever havoc he wants, today. Logan summoned him, Logan can deal with him. He’s still tired, still hasn’t caught up on sleep, and he feels the dull thrum of familiar fear rising in him at the notion. But Roman is snuggled up against him, his head on his shoulder, Virgil is holding him close, and no pillow could possibly compare to the absolute wonder of the real thing, and he feels himself slipping under, into the dark, but before, just before, he hears it. 

“Love you, scales.” and he means it.


End file.
